Eight Times
by An Extremely Agitated Hedgehog
Summary: Inside - A tear-soaked reunion and the tale of a tragedy.
_**Update:**_ _Yes, this story is getting updated. There are a few changes, which will be explained in due time, most likely on the podcast._

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 _Hello, everyone! For those of you who are new, welcome! Those of you who are reading my other story, welcome back!_ Stars _will also be updated later this week, it's my spring break this week, so I've had more time to write, and I needed to get this idea down._

 _This One-shot needs a little explanation. Basically, a few weeks back I was browsing headcanons, because I for some reason thought that tearing my heart in two was a good idea, and I came upon this headcanon that talked about Ivan being younger before the Russian Revolution, but the toll of the whole affair making him age to about 27. I had a link to the picture but fanfiction is stupid sometimes :(._

 _Anyway, it really got my wheels turning and I wanted to make at the very least a one-shot out of it. So here it is! Yay! Be prepared to cry, 'cuz with any luck, this one's a tear-jerker._

 _Just a few notes before you read: This one, like_ Stars _, has some historical notes associated with it, so feel free to read, and in addition, I wanted to include some Russian words, because I thought they sounded cool. Please note, however, that I know nothing of Russian language or culture other than what I've found on the internet over the last few days, so I'm viable to be wrong. If anyone out there is fluent in Russian and I got something wrong, please do not hesitate to politely correct me. I really appreciate it!_

 _One last thing. I'm putting a trigger warning on this. If I tell you why, it will ruin the story, but I'll just say that it's kind of dark. Nothing happens in the story directly, but certain kind of awful things are mentioned. So be warned._

 _I'll stop talking now, enjoy the story! Thanks!_

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Eight Times

A One-shot

August 16th, 1922

Natalya hadn't seen her brother in four years. Not for lack of trying, mind you, because she had tried just about everything. Back when the Tsar had been in power, smuggling and all sorts of illicit activities had been easier, but now that these _Bolsheviks_ (1) were in power, even simple border crossings proved difficult, nay, impossible. If she was honest, she'd really only had the last year to worry about it, because before that, she'd been dealing with her own problems. That jerk, Poland, had been constantly warring with her for the three years previous, and in that time had taken almost half of her territory for himself.

Even as she was considering the possibility of hiding in a box and _mailing_ herself to Moscow, the newly established Soviet Russian government had decided to contact her. They were forming a union of nations that they were calling the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, and they wanted her to become a founding member. This was all fine and well with Natalya, who would do anything to be closer to her brother, but she couldn't help thinking that she couldn't have really said no even if she'd wanted to. This was _Russia_ , after all. Even in disarray, weakened from the revolution, her brother's country was still a great force to reckon with.

And so, talks had commenced on the nature of the union, and several dignitaries from the powerful Russia had travelled to her capital of Minsk to discuss terms. But to Natalya's great surprise, her brother wasn't among them. It was almost unheard of for a Nation to be absent from an important meeting such as this. Unless, for some reason, he didn't consider it important enough to attend, which couldn't have been the case. Her brother loved her, she was sure of it.

She'd pulled aside one of the dignitaries, a short man with a face like a rat, when she had a free moment. "Where is my brother?" She asked, using her intimidation in its most extreme form. "Why is he not here?"

It seemed to work. The small man trembled as she spoke. He knew who she was, a person so different from the rest of them that she couldn't possibly be comprehended by a mere mortal such as himself. She was Belarus. "We're not supposed to tell you", he squeaked, shaking like a leaf as she grabbed onto the collar of his shirt.

"If you do not allow me to see him, I will _personally_ make sure that Belarus never becomes part of the Soviet Union", she snarled. It was hard to spit out. She _did_ want to be part of the union, more than she could possibly say. But making sure her older brother was alright was the most important thing now.

"You ... you can't do that", the man chuckled nervously. "It's not your decision".

"Oh?" Natalya asked, tilting her head to the side and smirking at him. "I am wondering just how you know this."

Needless to say, it was eventually decided that Natalya would go to Moscow to see her brother. But only under one condition: She must go alone. The leaders of her state (2) had expressed utmost concern at this unusual development. Just what were the Russians attempting to hide? They must have been planning something. But after reminding them that there was only so much that the Russians could do to her, she couldn't be killed, after all, they reluctantly let her go.

As she sat on the train bound for Moscow, Natalya worried. She watched the brown landscape pass blurrily by the window as the train trundled down the rickety track and wondered just what had happened to her brother. His absence in her life had been unnerving. It felt strange to not have him there. His silence scared her.

The Bolshevik officials met her at the train station. They were somberly dressed, as it seemed was everyone in this country, with heavy coats covered in droplets of water from misty rain, which made them resemble black ravens perched beside their square car. It was an ominous sight, and Natalya approached them cautiously.

" _Zdravstvujte_ *", One of them, a big man with a hooked nose, nodded and approached her. "Welcome to Russia, _Posol_ *". He kissed her on the cheek three times (3). Natalya crinkled her nose as the pungent smell of cigarettes reached her nose.

She wasn't in the mood for pleasantries, however, and got right to the point. "Where is my brother?" She asked coldly, trying not to shiver in the cold mist that hung over the city.

The Bolshevik looked nervous. "We will take you to him", he said, and graciously pulled the car door open for her. Natalya crawled in, trying to look as dignified as possible.

" _Spasibo_ *", she thanked him, and he closed the door behind her. One of the other guards got behind the wheel, and they pulled out of the station, onto the wet streets of the city. There were not many cars on the road, so they drove quickly over the quiet streets. In fact, so silent was the sober city that it almost felt as if they were floating over the ground rather than driving on it. The few people out walked alone, shoved hands into large coats against the rain. No one stopped to talk to each other, and not one person smiled.

Just as they began to drive through a nicer pat of the city, and some official looking buildings loomed ahead of them, the Bolshevik, who had been sitting next to her in the back seat, spoke. "I must ask of you a favor, Posol", he said nervously.

" _Da_ *?" She replied quietly, affected by the city, it seemed.

"Your brother is ... it's—" He sighed, "It's not good. We do not want to appear weak to other nations. You must not tell anyone of this".

Something was seriously wrong. Natalya was beginning to feel it. "Why?" She asked, grabbing the Bolshevik's arm. "What has happened?"

Then, the car stopped. They had reached their destination. "You will just have to see", the Bolshevik got out of the car, then helped her in turn. Natalya saw that towering over them were the massive, green-roofed buildings of the Kremlin (4). No one was about the square, and a somber feeling hung in the air as they crossed the commons.

Swiftly, they mounted the marble stairs of the senate building. Natalya's footsteps echoed throughout the square as she practically ran over the stone. Her heart beat quickly, and she could hear it in her ear. She was nervous, though she didn't quite know why. At the top, the Bolshevik pulled one of the heavy door and held it open for her as Natalya stepped inside out of the rain. The other two guards, who had been silent this whole time, did not follow them inside.

The front hall was spacious, and lavishly decorated, obviously meant to show off Russia's wealth. But maybe partially due to the cloudy day, the whole room looked terribly dark and gray. It was then that the feeling hit her: a sadness that she could not possibly explain. It pervaded the very air she breathed, and seemed to hang over the building like a shroud, giving an immense sense of weight to everything around her.

The Bolshevik was affected too, it seemed. His eyes had a dull look in them as he motioned for her to follow him down a narrow, carpeted hallway. Natalya obeyed, but with difficulty. Her legs felt like lead as she forced herself forward, one step at a time, down the small space.

After what seemed like an eternity, but really couldn't have been more than a few minutes, the Bolshevik stopped at a dark wooden door. "In here", he said. Natalya took a deep breath, and knocked.

There was a moment of silence. Natalya waited with baited breath. Another second. Was he not in there at all? Then, quietly, from the other side of the door, came one word: " _Voyti*_..." But the speaker couldn't have been her brother, for that one word conveyed it all to her. The speaker sounded ancient, and forlorn beyond measure. But most of all, it sounded tired.

She glanced at the Bolshevik in question. He merely nodded. " _Voyti!_ " The voice repeated, louder this time. Natalya turned back to the door, gripped the handle, and pulled the heavy wooden door hesitantly open.

Inside was a small office, richly furnished, with plush carpets and bookshelves which lined the walls. A large window cast dull, gray light onto a messy desk, covered in papers that had obviously been ignored. They rested in stacks, untouched.

And at the desk sat a man. His head was down on the desk, covered by his arms, so that only his mop of blonde, almost white hair stuck over the top of his long overcoat sleeves. Clutched in one hand was a half-empty bottle of vodka, and if he hadn't just spoken, Natalya would've assumed that he was sleeping.

"Ivan?" She asked, more timidly than she meant to. The man raised his head slowly. Watery blue eyes gazed blearily at her from across the room.

"Natalya?"

"Brother!" She ran across the room and around the desk, hugged him, hard. Natalya hadn't realized just how much she'd missed him until he was back in her arms. After a moment he hugged her back, and it seemed as if all of her worries had been just that: pointless fears with no basis in reality. He was still her brother, still Ivan. There must have been a logical explanation for his silence these last four years.

But who was she kidding? Even she didn't believe that hogwash. She pulled away and looked at his face, and her heart dropped in her chest.

He was older, _much_ older than when she'd seen him last. His face had hardened somewhat, and lost all of its youthful pleasantness. There were big bags under his eyes, like he hadn't slept for days, which made him seem even more different. He smiled at her, but that didn't mean anything. Ivan was _always_ smiling. Regardless of his expression, gone was the nineteen-year-old boy that Natalya knew, only to be replaced by this stranger, this _man_. He had aged eight years over the course of four.

Natalya held his face between her hands, searching for her brother in his bleary, unfocused eyes. "Ivan", she began, "What has happened to you, brother?"

He put his own hand over hers, and held it there for a minute, as if savoring the contact. "The revolution has taken its toll on me, I suppose", he tried to wave the question off, but his eyes gave him away. He was sad beyond measure, and Natalya didn't but the lie for one second.

" _Nyet_ *", she said, pulling away, "Something is wrong".

Ivan chuckled. "You were always so observant, _sestra_ *". He grabbed the bottle of vodka from the desk and took a big swig from it. "The problem with being immortal is that you can't get _drunk_ quickly enough".

"Maybe you should stop", Natalya reached out to grab the bottle from him, but he swatted her hand away.

"It's the only way I can sleep". Ivan took another drink. He looked off at the wall past her shoulder, as if seeing something else entirely.

Natalya put a hand to his face, forced him to look at her. "Why?" She asked as his eyes focused on hers. "What has happened?"

He gazed at her for a second, searching her face. "I..." Ivan began, breaking the stare, "I keep seeing her".

"Who?" Natalya pulled a chair around to the side of the desk, so that there were no barriers between them. She sat, facing him. "Who?" She repeated, louder, more forcefully this time, as he seemed to be drifting away from her.

Ivan pondered, as if wondering how to begin, and drank from the bottle again. "She was the last to die, you know?" He started, staring vacantly at something that Natalya couldn't see. "I watched them do it. I watched the guards kill them. 'Feels like I did it. Like _I_ killed them. But I didn't. I _know_ I didn't." She didn't say anything, just waited, trying to be patient, as Ivan continued.

"The Tsar died first. One shot to the head— _bang!—_ and he was down", Ivan pantomimed a pistol in his hand as he shot some invisible target; another drink from the bottle.

"His wife went next", he went on. "She'd been sitting down, didn't have much time to react. _Bang!"_ Another shot from the gun, another shot from the bottle. "And then poor Alexey tried to run, but they got him in the back of the head", he stood up now, aimed the invisible pistol again. "It took two shots to kill him. Poor aim", he added, and " _Bang, bang!_ " Fired again. He wasn't really talking to Natalya it seemed, but she listened anyway. Another drink of vodka. His words were beginning to slur.

"Then Olga", he began to make the sign of the cross, but then stopped mid-way as he fired again. " _Bang!_ " Ivan was becoming hysterical now, his eyes wet with tears. "Then Tatiana. _Bang!_ Then Anastasia", and this time he drew an invisible knife and stabbed. " _Slice!_ " He took one more swig from the bottle. "And then..." He paused, sat back down at the desk.

After a moment of silence, he began again, quieter now. "And then she looked at me. The guard had her in his sights but she looked at _me_. 'Why Ivan, why? Why have you betrayed me?'"

He covered his face with his hands. "I didn't! I didn't! They promised! They promised they wouldn't hurt you, my sweet _Printsessa_ *!"

They sat in silence for a moment, Ivan's head resting on the desk. After a minute of waiting, Natalya put her hand on his shoulder. He hugged her then, afraid to let go, as if afraid that she would disappear if he did. She rubbed his head, letting him have his silence for a while. Then she spoke. "Who is this, Ivan?"

"Masha..." He whispered. "Masha" (5).

"Who?"

Very slowly, stressing out every syllable as if it were honey on his tongue, Ivan whispered "Maria".

She knew who he meant. The princess. _His_ princess. "That was four years ago, Ivan", she whispered. "If you keep this up, you will never sleep".

Ivan pulled away, tried to compose himself. "I know", he said, drinking from the bottle one last time. "But I can't get that moment out of my head". He ran a hand through his unkempt hair. 'I want ... I want to tell her that I didn't kill her. But she's dead now", he said bitterly, "She can't hear me".

Natalya stood up, placing her hand on his shoulder. "I would stop moping around if I were you", she said. "Keep this up, and you will become an old man".

" _Nyet_ ", he waved the comment off, smiling up at her. "I won't get any older. I only shot the gun eight times"

Natalya froze, stared down at him. "The gun?" She managed to choke out. "What gun?" He didn't say anything, just looked away from her. "What gun, Ivan?" She grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

Ivan sighed, and turned his invisible pistol on himself, held it to his own temple. "Once for every death", he said quietly, "And once for me".

" _Bang_ ".

Ivan smiled.

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 **Dictionary** :

Zdravstvujte – Hello (Formal)

Posol – Ambassador

Spasibo – Thank you

Da – Yes

Voyti – Enter

Net (nee-ET) – No

Sestra – Sister

Printsessa – Princess

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 **Historical Notes** :

(1) The Bolsheviks were also commonly known as "Reds". They were the beginnings of the Communist party in Russia, and a major factor in the revolution. Eventually they kicked out the Provisional Government set in place after the revolution, and formed the USSR in 1922.

(2) I swear for the life of me that Belarus' actual government during this time continues to confuse the daylights out of me. Which is why her "leaders" are so vague. If anyone has any information on this, please don't fail to bring it to my attention. I would love to change this.

(3) A formal way to greet women in Russia.

(4) The house of government in Moscow.

(5) Her sisters called the Grand Duchess Maria by this nickname.


End file.
